


what do you mean it's all gone? (I've waited here so long)

by Crisp_Sobriety



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: CW: disordered eating, CW: disordered sleeping, Gen, Saduceus Clay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25189090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crisp_Sobriety/pseuds/Crisp_Sobriety
Summary: It sounded further than before, but now he was sure it was Calliope’s voice. “Help!”And then, unmistakably Clarabelle, and further still. “Lost!”(or; Caduceus meets a family friend. He doesn't appreciate it)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 101





	what do you mean it's all gone? (I've waited here so long)

**Author's Note:**

> I was considering the implications of the kenku spirit and hurt my own feelings so I wrote a thing about it, enjoy.

He’d found that, by establishing a routine, he could propel the endless identical days along. Each one over and done with was another day closer to the day when they would come home.

So, there were a few things he always made sure to do: tend the graves, gather the tea, check the wards, and so on. Stuff he could do without having to think, too much.

What had gotten away from him a little bit was the timing of it all. He ate when he was hungry and slept when he was tired, but, he noticed, he was getting less hungry and more tired all the time. It was probably fine –at least, it wasn’t a problem _yet_ — but it did mean there were nights like tonight, when he would start awake in pitch darkness, another full cycle of daylight lost without him noticing.

He wasn’t raised to complain. So he skipped breakfast, lit a lantern, and went out to gather.

He was bent over a flowering grave in the moonlight when he heard:

“ _Help!”_

He froze, hand hovering.

Listening was one of the few things he considered himself truly good at. Sure enough, the voice came again, ghostly, echoing across distance. “ _Help! Help!_ ”

Gooseflesh rippled over him. It wasn’t the situation, really –he was a gravekeeper of the Savalirwood; he’d heard his fair share of desperate screams in the forest (and just as many of those were suddenly, ominously silenced)— but the voice itself. Because it sounded like…

“ _Calliope_?” a second voice called. “ _Colton_?”

He leapt to his feet, knocking the lantern over. The little candle sputtered out, leaving him standing in the dark.

“Clarabelle?!” he shouted at the tree line, louder than he knew was wise.

(Something in the magic of the grove seemed to groan, the way a house groans when its walls expand or contract. His call had caught some-corrupted-thing’s attention, and the wards held it off. Barely. He didn’t care. He didn’t care.)

He felt like something electrified. A tree petrified by lightning, standing so still among the graves, straining his ears for a response.

It sounded further than before, but now he was sure it was Calliope’s voice. _“Help!”_

And then, unmistakably Clarabelle, and further still. _“Lost!”_

He bit his lip --and then looked all around, trying to find where he’d placed his staff when he’d had a light to see it by. It was leaning against the headstone. He held it close to his chest in two hands and, with wide eyes, started to walk towards the threshold between the grove and the wood.

Colton’s voice drifted into the grove, making him jump, “ _Be of service!”_

They were all there. They were all _right there_.

The magical current of the wards prickled his skin. A thousand lessons ran through his head --never abandon the grove, never go anywhere alone, and never, _ever_ enter the woods at night…

But he was gripped by a longing so sharp and immediate it felt more like panic.

“Clarabelle!” he called again, taking another dangerous step forward. “Calliope! Colton! You guys, I’m over here, I’m—!”

Something unseen but _large_ moved in the brush only a few feet away; he stumbled back, brandishing his staff wildly. Once again the limits of the wards seemed to stretch, straining against the intruder –and then shrunk back in again, tight enough to make him gasp, and for a dizzy moment it looked like the trees were rushing in to crush him. Like the entire grove was contracting to an unbearable, claustrophobic point…

The illusion passed. The sense of being trapped remained.

He was beginning to feel like he might cry from frustration, when Clarabelle’s voice rang out again, a little closer than before. But what it said was wrong, “ _Strange voice_ ,” it said, soft and lilting. “ _Are you near or far?_ ”

Strange voice?

He opened his mouth to answer, incredulous as he was, but the beginnings of a memory curled into being, and kept him silent.

“ _Strange voice,_ ” it said again, coaxing. “ _Are you before me or behind me?_ ”

“I…”

 _I’ve heard this story_ , he thought.

And the truth clicked into place.

He let his staff fall to his side, arms limp. After a moment, he turned and walked back to the temple. He leaned against the southern-most wall, sliding down into a sitting position on the ground, knees pulled to his chest. Pink eyes half-lidded, unseeing.

He didn’t answer the voices when they called for him again.

It was just after sunrise and a fine layer of dew had settled on him when he felt the slight pop of someone crossing the threshold. Nothing corrupted, nothing dangerous –but no one came in or out without him knowing about it.

Of course, he knew who it was. He’d listened to them searching for him all night.

(He’d listened to what sounded like his family searching for him all night…)

A dark shape appeared around his feet. He lifted his head to see what looked like a shadow suspended in mid-air, becoming gradually more solid even as the morning light passed through it. Its head, which had a bird-like shape, was bowed towards him.

“ _Calliope_ ,” said the voice of Clarabelle. “ _Colton. I, I, I._ ”

“They’re not here,” he said. “They left some seasons ago. It’s just me.”

The kenku spirit didn’t move. Although there were only pockets of darkness where the eyes should have been, he could feel them looking him over, questioning. He sighed, propping up his staff as something to lean his forehead against. He was so tired.

“I’m the other sibling. Caduceus. We’ve never met, but my brother and sisters told me about you. And how they helped you.”

He glanced towards the woods where he knew, somewhere a mile or two out, a pile of kenku bones lay intertwined with flowers.

“I guess they probably used to visit your grave now and then.” Without him. “To perform the rites…and of course Belle would just want to say hi…”

“ _Caduceus_ ,” his own voice echoed back at him. He tried to ignore the deadened, rung-out sound of it.

“Yeah. It’s nice that you came to check on them.” Actually he could have done without it. “I’m sure you were starting to worry, when no one had swung by in a while. Rest easy, friend—they’re on a long journey, but they’ll be back. In time.”

“ _Caduceus_ ,” his voice said again. “ _The other sibling_.”

“Mmhm,” he closed his eyes, willing the spirit to be gone when he opened them again.

There was a considered pause. Then, Calliope’s voice rung out, fierce and declarative, “ _I will defend this cleric charged to my care!_ ”

Oh, boy. What must he look like, to inspire pity from the dead?

“You’re very kind,” he said. “But there’s nothing I need from you. I’m just fine on my own.”

The magic of the grove shivered, so he opened his eyes a crack, to see.

The shade of the kenku was bowing its head, and then lower, shrinking in on itself as it began to fade. After a moment the light streaming through was clear again, unobstructed. He sensed that he was, once again, alone.

Well. He wasn’t raised to complain.

He realized he’d been awake for hours and eaten nothing at all, and just as quickly decided he didn’t care, and that all he wanted was to sleep.

(Years later he would reflect how, when he really compared the two in his memory, loneliness and starvation felt so very much the same).

His chores could wait until tomorrow, too. Let the world – _his_ world, this tiny orchard, and the temple and the dead within it— be the one to _wait,_ for _once_.

He hauled himself to his feet, using his staff for support.

At the very least, he comforted himself, another day was over and done with. One day closer to the day when they would come home.


End file.
